Talk dirty to me...

Remember when you were younger, and your older uncles/aunts/cousins/whatever would complain bitterly about how your generation doesn't know how to do shit? According to them, your dress sense was complete rubbish, your music didn't even qualify as organized noise and your favorite sportsman wasn't fit to launder the jockstraps of their own heroes.

As life, time and Mother ‘Fucking’ Nature would have it, we are now at that hallowed age, where those younger than us simply don’t know shit. And since I consider myself as someone who knows quite a lot of shit (as random and useless as that shit may be), I would like to highlight another aspect of life where I find younger people severely lacking in experience, ability and all around knowledge. This is the subtle art form that is conversation, more specifically, flirting.

I recently came out of the most intense relationship of my illustrious career. Don’t ask any questions, because you won’t get any answers. Moving on, during this time I managed to lose contact with most of my good old ‘friends’ and whilst a laudable gesture during a relationship, one must always remember that nothing lasts forever, a piece of advice I wish I followed myself.

But I digress. Of course, now a free man, I have reverted to my philandering ways, and tried to peek up every skirt within a 10km radius. Imagine my body as a high functioning compass; I won’t bother telling you what part represents the needle.

As I have complained about on several occasions, it is impossible to walk up to women and state that you’re here to “fuck bitches”. The only exception to that rule involves an exchange of currency and possible STDs. Thus, in order to satisfy my perverse desires, I must engage every girl I meet in stimulating conversation, in the hope that I can talk my way into her panties. As luck would have it, the forces of the universe have decided to compensate my heartbreak by sending very young, very hot women my way. And when I say young, I mean young. I am currently en route to violating a 25 year old, molesting two 23 year olds and if I play my cards right, I just might bag me a 21 year old (fuck you hater, you wish you were in my shoes).

These women are of varying degrees of attractiveness, but all share one common problem. No conversation. No creativity in speech, an almost non-existent ability to flirt. Sometimes, and I actually told one of them this, it’s like trying to speak to a computer. You type in a command, you get a response, nothing more, nothing less.

To be honest, I shouldn't be complaining. After all, the end justifies the means. But I enjoy flirting, I always have. It’s the thrill of the chase, it's a dance that must be done and done right. Proper flirting is like sparring or fencing. You feint, parry, duck and dodge. She tries to blow you off, you counter that with a line that pulls her back in. She tries to friend-zone you, you drag yourself out of that abyss and firmly plant yourself in her sexual subconscious. I fucking love it, it makes the sex worthwhile.

But here I am, surrounded by a potential plethora of pussy (that has a ring to it, am I right?) and I'm being dulled because these young women couldn't carry a conversation in their overpriced knock-off designer handbags. Personally, I blame social media, Instagram in particular. What is the use of being able to provide witty, stimulating conversation when you could instead upload the 70 selfies you took yesterday, hashtag them with a quote stolen from the internet and get 100 likes from ignorant, unintelligent Neanderthals whose idea of an eloquent role model is Kanye West?

Please don’t misunderstand, this won’t stop me from trying to fuck anyone. My basest desires much be satisfied, whether I like it or not. However, I would like to enjoy the chase again. Nothing fuels my ego like when I drop a particularly brilliant line on a girl and I see the smile cross her face like “this dirty bastard just hit the panty-drop button”. Unfortunately, I need ammunition for my attack.

Getting a girl naked is like preparing a meal.  You may be Gordon fucking Ramsey, an accomplished chef, able to whip up culinary delights at the drop of your chef’s hat. But still, you need the right ingredients, without which, you might as well have learned to cook in carpentry school.

So this is an appeal to all women out there. I can’t appeal to men as I have never (and am not planning on ever) flirted with another man. Sweetheart, that fat ass is beautiful. Your skin is amazing and that hairdo is madness itself. Add a sense of humor to it, maybe the ability to drop a line or two of your own, and you’ll go from being a fine woman to a fucking goddess.

Because when we meet in person, and you forget your Instagram filter at home, it’s your conversation and banter that’ll keep me coming and coming like I forgot something.

I am Womilee. What your name is and what that thing do?